


Circuits and Lights

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AI, Automata, Birthday present for PREEEEAAAA, F/M, Future AU, Jon is not related to the Starks, Lyanna is not ab stark, Modern AU, Ned and Cat only had one child (Sansa), Robots, everyone needs to stop having birthdays, sort of inspired by the tv show 'humans'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-12 21:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13555722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: This should be the best thing that’s ever happened to Jon – as macabre as that sounds. But he can’t help that niggling scepticism gnaw and nibble somewhere deep within his stomach. Good things don’t happen to Jon Snow. And this good thing started with a death.*********In a future where life-like androids are commonplace in society, Jon Snow finds out that he is a beneficiary to the will of a mysterious man that he's never met. He is left the man's house and all it's contents. What he finds there is more than dusty furniture and old carpets.





	1. Inheritance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jonsasnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonsasnow/gifts).



> For Jonsasnow - starting this early for your birthday!
> 
> Sidenote - if everyone can stop having birthdays that would be great because I'm running out of fic ideas lol!! (not really....I've still got tons!!)

This _should_ be the best thing that’s ever happened to Jon – as macabre as that sounds. But he can’t help that niggling scepticism gnaw and nibble somewhere deep within his stomach. Good things don’t happen to Jon Snow. And this good thing started with a death.

Jon thanked the cab driver unnecessarily as the car pulled up to the curb outside the grand, old looking house. He stepped out, a little in awe as he gaped up at the place. It was larger than any house that Jon had ever lived in before but not too imposing that it looked pretentious.

“Certainly sir,” the driver chirped, “please provide payment.”

Jon was nudged out of his stupor. He fuddled and fished around in his coat and jeans pockets until he found his old worn leather wallet. “Err…here,” he offers, holding out his bank card.

“Thank you,” the driver responds, holding the card out flat on his palm and closing his eyes as Jon guessed his sensors must be working to take the payment.

He was still a bit unnerved when around automata like this one, having spent a great deal of his adult life working in the far north with the indigenous Free Folk. The country and people were not affluent in the wildlands that he’d lived in and certainly no one could afford their very own personal android. There were the odd service machine such as drivers or manual labourers, but they had looked nothing like the _‘thing’_ currently sat at the wheel of the taxi. It looked _so real_ …it looked _so life-like_. Jon found himself staring, leaning closer towards the open driver-side window as the machine/person/thing continued taking his payment for his ride from the airport. He was particularly fascinated by how they managed to make the skin look so real – he almost wanted to reach out and touch-

“Thank you, sir,” the driver said suddenly, making Jon jump back a step, “payment received,” it continued, it’s open palm moving smoothly towards Jon to offer him his bank card back. Jon took it, hastily stuffing it back in the confines of his wallet. “Have a pleasant day,” the thing smiled before driving off and leaving him there with his gym bag and rucksack of belongings.

“Yeah,” Jon muttered shakily to himself, watching the car smoothly roll away, “you too.”

He turned to gaze back up at the property again. Jon Snow had never owned a house before. His work, researching the ancient folklore and myths of the Free Folk had meant that he’d travelled a lot throughout the various tribes, sending his findings and essays back to the Westerosi National Historical Society. But now – something rather unexpected had happened. He had been left a property and some money in the will of one Mr Eddard Stark.

The most curious thing was that Jon had never met this Mr Stark in his life. Jon unfolded the handwritten letter that the deceased man’s solicitor had given him when he’d attended his office to hear the reading of his will…

_Dear Mr Snow,_

_You do not know me._

_And I have never met you._

_So, I can imagine that being summonsed to be told that you are a beneficiary of my last will and testament may have come as a bit of a surprise._

_To you, Jon Snow, I leave my home, all it’s contents, and half the value of my savings._

_The house is old – treat her well._

_Its contents are precious – treat her well._

_The money can be gambled away at the nearest casino as far as I am concerned. Make use of it in the way that you see fit. But please, I beg you, see to it that what you find in my home is handled with care._

_You may be asking ‘why me?’ Well, many a year ago, your mother and I were neighbours. We were more than that – we were friends. And in my hour of need, she had been a constant in a changing world. I’m sure you are aware of this, lad – but your mother was a remarkable woman. When more than one tragedy befell my family – when my other friends and colleagues had turned on me – Miss Lyanna Snow did not._

_I was more than heartbroken to hear of her passing a few years ago, and promptly changed what had been her name on my will, to yours._

_Over the years, we had both moved on from the neighbourhood that we shared, and your mother and I had kept in touch. She wrote to me about you often – about how proud she was of her son, off on his adventures._

_I’ve read every copy of your essays available from the W.N.H.S and it was very clear that you are an intelligent and forward thinking young man, who sees past common perceptions. In short, I thought you would make the best care taker for what I will leave behind on this earthly realm._

_Yours gratefully_

_Eddard Stark_

Jon folded up the letter once more and tucked it into the breast pocket of his plaid shirt. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he grabbed his meagre belongings and ascended the front steps of the home that now had his name on the deeds.

He fumbled around with the key, thankful that it was of the old-fashioned kind, and not these new fangled electronic household passes that homes were being built with these days. The door was stiff, but he managed to shoulder it open.

Dropping his gym bag and rucksack on the ornate Victorian-looking area rug in the hall, Jon gaped at the reception space. It wasn’t huge – but then again, Jon’s not sure that he’d ever lived in a property that actually _had_ a reception space before.

The walls featured dark patterned wallpaper, and the floors were made up of rich mahogany boards. The furniture and bannister swirling up the curved staircase was a dark wood too, perhaps walnut. Everything was covered in a layer of dust and Jon suspects that no one had stepped foot inside the property since Mr Stark’s death, almost two months ago.

The place definitely had an olde-worlde vibe to it. Maybe even a little spooky – not that he was expecting to see Morticia Addams come floating down the stairs with Gomez kissing up her arm or anything, but-…well, yeah, he could sort of picture that a little bit maybe.

Jon wandered over to the foot of the staircase. There was a collection of painted portraits, hung in ornate antique gold frames. One (the largest), was a family portrait – a gently smiling man had his arm around an auburn-haired woman, and between them was a redhead little girl with bright blue eyes. She must have been all of about ten years old. Jon thought that the man must be Mr Stark…and then wondered what must have happened to the little girl and the woman for him – a stranger- to have inherited the estate and not them. He shuddered, concluding that he will find out later and that it may not be best to dwell on all that just now.

One-by-one, Jon explored the rooms of the house. Three stories and seven bedrooms. Much, much more than he will ever have use for. His mind wandered back to Mr Stark’s letter…

_The house is old – treat her well._

_Its contents are precious – treat her well._

_But please, I beg you, see to it that what you find in my home is handled with care._

Upon reading those words, Jon had thought that he would be stumbling upon some collections of rare and expensive antiques, but alas, he hadn’t yet come across anything of note.

He chose a bedroom for himself. A medium sized one with a decent looking writing desk that faced a large window overlooking the now outgrown lush green lawn in the back garden. He made a mental note to perhaps go routing around in the large shed structure he spied below tomorrow. Maybe he’ll come across a working mower – if not, he enjoyed tinkering around with things to restore them. He wouldn’t mind the challenge if he were to stumble upon something that needed a little love and attention.

Jon opened his ruck and pulled out his new laptop – the very first thing he’d bought for himself using Mr Stark’s money. He’d had another one, sure, but as he felt he was starting afresh, he couldn’t see the harm in splashing out maybe this once. Jon placed the laptop on the desk and opened the screen, sitting down in the wheeled chair, he sat back and appraised his new, rather empty work space.

 _This was it,_ he thought, nodding his head to himself, _this is where I’m going to write that novel._ Jon had long wanted to try his hand at some creative writing, rather than his usual academic pieces and this chance to take a sabbatical from his career using Mr Stark’s money had been too good an opportunity to give up. For as far back as he could remember, Jon had stories of knights, maidens, mythical beasts and epic battles rolling around in his head – now was finally the time to try and capture them into words.

Fishing around in his rucksack again, Jon pulled out the power cord for the laptop, deciding it could probably benefit from some more charge. He found a nearby socket, plugged the thing in and flipped the switch.

 _That’s odd,_ he thought, realising that the little green charge light had not come on. He went to check the dusty lamp that sat at the side of the bed – nothing. And then the main ceiling lights – nothing again.

“Must be a circuit breaker out,” Jon muttered to himself before sighing out loud. “I bet it’s in the basement. These things are always in the sodding basement.”

He grumbled his way down the stairs and found himself in the kitchen. The door down to the basement was yanked open and Jon tried the light switch for down there with no luck. After banging and crashing around in the cupboards and drawers, he found a torch and descended the stairs into unknown darkness.

The circuit breaker box was pretty easy to find, high on the wall at the base of the rickety stairs. He flipped the lid and pushed up the two breakers that had been affected. He was blinded momentarily when the light flickered on down in the cellar, his sneakers scuffling on the concrete floor as he took a step back in shock at the brightness.

 _“SHIT!”_ he yelped once his eyes had blinked open. There, in the corner of the near empty basement, sat a woman.

Jon’s heartbeat had leapt to his throat, he’d raised the torch in his hand – not quite sure what it was he was going to actually do with it, but he’d been more than a little caught off guard. The woman stayed eerily still, her eyes closed peacefully and her back ramrod straight as her hands were set atop her thighs.

“Uh…hello?...Miss?” Jon called out, but the woman stayed still. For an odd moment, Jon wondered if this whole thing had been some elaborate hoax – that perhaps this woman would spring into life any minute and yell that he’d been ‘punked’ or whatever it was.

It was then that he noticed it. The chair that she was sitting so straight backed in wasn’t just any chair – it was a bionic sleep station. A place in which robotic models would be stored to charge, or where they can upload their upgrades. This woman wasn’t a woman at all.

Jon took a few tentative steps nearer, ducking his head to look at her better. “Um…hello?” he tried again, not really knowing how to engage with these machines having never spent too much time around them – certainly have never _owned_ one. Just like with the one that had driven him here from the airport, Jon was once again struck by how utterly life-like she is. _She’s pretty too_ , Jon thought before wondering if admiring a machine in such a way was at all odd. The android was slim with long legs and sleek, straight copper hair. Her skin was creamy and even featured freckles! Her cheeks had a rosy tint to them and Jon wondered if that is always there – _do they make these things capable of blushing?_ Her pink lips were shaped in the perfect little cupids bow and she was dressed head to toe in white – crisp white trousers and some sort of matching tunic, and flat white pumps on her feet.

Jon neared her cautiously, not quite sure what to do. He waved a hand in front of her face with no responding reaction at all. Once he was this up close, Jon wondered how he had not noticed the little flashing lights on the sensors of the chair as whatever power or upgrade was currently flowing from the device to… _well, she’s a device too I guess._

Scratching his head, Jon tried to recall anything and everything he knew about these machines – which was not a lot. A mental image from a TV show he’d once watched where one of these things helped cops to solve crimes came to mind. He remembered the way in which one of the characters would turn the robot on by pressing something under its chin.

With a shaky hand, Jon reached forward. His fingers brushed under her jaw, the unexpected softness and warmth he felt there making him draw a breath and pull his hand back. _Feels so fucking real!_ He ventured under her jaw again, smoothing the pads of his fingers along the soft artificial skin until he felt a little ridge. He pushed it and quickly withdrew his hand with a short gasp.

The thing opened its eyes, bright blue irises showing themselves for the first time as she looked ahead. It blinked slowly, once and then twice before tilting its head up at him.

“Hello,” it said in a strangely sweet voice, “my name is Sansa. Are you my new master, Mr Jon Snow?”

 

 


	2. So Real, So Perfect

Jon took sleepy, unsteady steps down the stairs of his new home. The first night’s rest in a new place was always difficult for him and he’d felt like he’d hardly slept a wink. Reaching the bottom step, he launched into an almighty yawn, stretching his arms high, scratching at his belly before shoving one hand down his sweatpants, absentmindedly cupping his crotch as his lips smacked together, chasing away the last of his yawn.

“Good morning, Jon,” came a sudden formal female voice. Jon jumped out of his skin, yanking his hand out from under his pants waistband and trying frantically to pat down his wayward springy bedhead. His new mechanic companion only tilted her head and smiled at him. “There are no healthy foodstuffs currently within the house. Will we be visiting the store today?”

“Uh…,” Jon gaped at her – this ‘Sansa’ thing that he’d suddenly acquired – he was nowhere near being used to being looked after by another living, breathing human - let alone an impersonation of one.

Sansa was stood straight-backed, feet together and arms hanging loosely at her sides. Everything about her looked real – apart from her utter perfection. _A real woman wouldn’t stand like that,_ Jon thought, _there would be a leg cocked, or all her weight would be leant on one foot, pushing out her hip. She’s too…rigid, too straight_. It unnerved him.

Sansa tilted her head again, her smile staying frozen on her face. Jon realised she was prompting him to answer her. “Um…I have some pizza left over from last night. I was just going to finish that.”

“Of course,” she said, the placid smile still plastered on her immaculate lips, “however, your diet should include many more fruits, vegetables, lean meats, pulses, grains and select fats. Proper nutrition is important for your physical and mental health.”

Jon blinked at her and then shook his head to himself before making his way to the kitchen. “I can go to the store later I suppose,” he mumbled, not really sure if he was talking to himself or her.

Jon yanked open the fridge door, creasing his brow at what he’d found there. Sansa had evidently cleared away his left-over pizza into Tupperware containers instead of just shoving the whole pizza box in there like a normal person. _She’s not a normal person, though is she? She not a person at all._

Pulling out the plastic box, Jon set it on the countertop before returning to the fridge to grab the large bottle of Pepsi he’d ordered with his food last night. _Not exactly the breakfast of champions_ _Jonny boy_ , he thought, just as he set the bottle down and frowned at the now empty space where the Tupperware box had once sat.

“Here you go, Jon,” Sansa offered, placing a plate that now housed his pizza in front of him.

“Oh…I was just gonna…”

Sansa raised her perfect eyebrows expectantly and Jon is struck by just how human the gesture is. _Do they code them with these little nuanced expressions?_ He splutters a bit, realising that she is in fact waiting for him to finish his sentence. “Well…I was just going to…eat it from the box.” Jon winces inwardly, suddenly feeling like an uncouth slob in front of her – then wondering why on earth he’s feeling embarrassed in front of what is essentially a machine. _It’s because she looks so fucking real….and perfect._ His eyes were drawn to her flawlessly sleek, glossy hair, tied in a low ponytail at the nape of her neck had not one strand out of place.

Sansa blinked her bright blue eyes at him, her expression unreadable behind her ever-present smile. “I can put them back into the plastic container if you would prefer?” she asks, indicating to the slices of pizza arranged on the plate with equal distances between them.

Jon sheepishly shook his head and tucked into a slice, nudging his glasses back up his nose with his knuckle as he leant back on the counter-top to chew, watching Sansa return to her task of washing up the Tupperware box.

“Will you be using the study today, Jon?” she asks as she neatly folds the tea-towel she had dried her hands on.

Jon swallows his mouthful of pizza and furrows his brow. “I wasn’t planning on it…why?”

Sansa pauses, her plastic smile slipping ever so slightly in a way that makes Jon think he’d imagined it. All too quickly, she blinks rapidly and her lips frame that same smile once more. “No reason,” she says before moving towards the door. “The grass is in need of mowing, I will complete the task and any others you wish until you are ready to go to the store.”

“Um…do we…do I…is there a mower?”

“Yes, a Greenblade Pro 5000, model number M34CT885. It is 5 years old and at its last service 1 year ago, two blades were replaced, the cuttings box was thoroughly cleaned and-“

“Alright, alright!” Jon chuckled, raising the hand holding his pizza in mock surrender, “I believe you,” he said, gently throwing his slice back onto the plate with a quiet ‘plink’ sound.

Sansa’s eyes followed his movements, watching as he huffed and raked his fingers through his hair. “You are displeased?” she asked in a tone that was caught between sounding factual and…tentative?

Jon’s brows knit together as he brushed his hands against one another. The camber of her voice sounded unsure and maybe curious – which in itself, seemed impossible. Androids are not capable of curiosity – they know what they know – anything beyond that is absorbed without bias or prejudice. He must have imagined it. “Well…” he started, now feeling confused and unsure himself, “it’s only that I…I kind of assumed that an old house like this would have…well, _old_ machinery.”

“Is that a preference of yours?”

“No…I just,” he fidgeted and began scrubbing at the back of his neck, feeling like he was under her scrutiny as her crystal eyes soaked up his every twitch and shuffle, “well, I do kind of enjoy fixing things up. I’ve done mowers before…it’s…satisfying to-to give something your attention like that.”

Sansa cocked her head. “You receive gratification from fixing a problem?”

“Yes,” Jon breathed, grateful that at least some part of her coding had understood.

“Very well, Jon” she said, that plastic smile creeping back onto her face, “I shall endeavour to seek out some problems for you to fix.” And with that, she left the kitchen with a nod of her head.

 _I asked for that I suppose,_ Jon groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face.

****

Going to the grocery store with Sansa was an altogether odd experience. Most of the visitors to the shop were other androids, gliding along the aisles, automatically picking out the items they had been instructed to buy. Jon even spotted a few machines that were there with human children, taking them along as they babysat their master’s kids and ran their errands. Jon shuddered at the thought – allowing Sansa to dust the house and mow the lawn was about his limit so far. She had offered to unpack his belongings and hang up his clothes, but he found himself declining – he couldn’t fathom a mindset where he would let a machine care for his own children. He gaped as one ‘nanny-bot’ shushed the toddler sat in her shopping cart and then proceeded to hold out her palm, a projected hologram of a tiny cartoon dog began to yip and wag its tail as it hovered just above her hand. The toddler squealed in delight and laughed as he tried to grab the moving holographic image, only for his hand to fall straight through it.

Jon had told Sansa to pick out whatever she thought they should buy. She did have a point about his eating habits and although he ran almost daily, he’s guilty of indulging in tasty treats.

After they’d paid, Jon refused for Sansa to carry the bags, people around them noticing and giving him odd looks as he bundled the groceries into the boot of the cab. _This neighbourhood is not what I’m used to_ , Jon mused, surveying the people they drove by – picking out the androids by their stiff stances and almost blank expressions. He glanced over at Sansa sat next to him in the taxi, _she’s the prettiest one I’ve seen so far,_ he thought as she continued to stare forward during the entirety of their journey home.

“Will you be using the study this afternoon, Jon?” Sansa asks as they’re both putting the shopping away.

“Uh…no,” he responds, arm paused mid way to putting a bag of lentils away in the cupboard, “why do you ask?”

Sansa stills for perhaps only one second, her perfect brows knit together briefly before smoothing out again almost instantly. “No reason…thank you, Jon,” she says, changing the subject as she gently takes the grocery bag from his hands, “you needn’t help me with my tasks. You are my master and I will take care of you.”

Jon swallows a lump from his throat. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being called her ‘master’ even though it was the term laced within her coding. _Owner_ , he thought errantly, but that label did not suit him either. _She’s just a machine for fuck’s sake!_ Jon reminded himself, shaking his head and leaving her to her tasks in the kitchen.

He’s about to go upstairs, deciding that he could at least do some preliminary story outlines for his novel ideas, when he passes the door to Mr Stark’s old study. _Why is she so keen that I use this room?_ The door creaks as he pushes it with one finger and the air is musty when he pokes his head into the room. He’s surprised to see that Sansa had not dusted in here, every other square inch of the large house was gleaming and polished – but this one looked as though it had not been touched at all. The room was dressed in masculine deep emerald greens and the odd item of burgundy. The wood was dark, much like the rest of the house and the desk was large and imposing. Jon strode over to the tall sash windows to draw back the thick velvet curtains, streams of light now bursting through making his eyes squint in protest. Turning his back on the windows and looking back into the room, Jon watched the dust particles dance in the shafts of sunlight beaming through the glass panes. His eyes were drawn to the floor to ceiling bookshelves that filled the wall behind Mr Stark’s desk. He walked over in awe, focussing on the titles of the books. The shelves were stocked with the greats in fiction and non-fiction – books that Jon knew and cherished, studies on anthropology and ancient myth that had enraptured him as a student. The thing that was truly remarkable however, was that each book, no matter how modern, had been wrapped in what seemed to be Mr Stark’s own personalised dust jackets. Every book was bound in a dark mossy green colour, the title along with a small wolf’s head symbol embossed in gold leaf along the spines – every book, except for one. He ran his fingers along the volumes until he reached the unbound book, ‘The Ethics of Consciousness by Prof. Qyburn’.

Jon paused, a puzzled look on his face. He’d read every single title before, or at least was aware of the work, but this one was completely new to him. Hooking his forefinger over the top of the spine, Jon dragged it out from between it’s brothers. The sleeve was plain black with no illustration or text save for the title along the spine. The hardback cover opened with a quiet creak and Jon was met with some scribbled handwritten words on the very first page –

_She will show herself to you when she is ready._


	3. Not a suitable topic of discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those that are reading and commenting!

Jon closed his eyes, his breath quickening with his strokes. It was morning and he didn’t have any specific plans today so why they hell shouldn’t he lay in and jerk off before starting the day? His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he began replaying the porno he’d watched last night on his laptop. The actress had been sat astride her partner, facing his feet, her arse bouncing up and down as the guy’s cock repeatedly disappeared into her.

The weight of Jon’s blanket started to hamper his movement as he fisted even faster, the scene playing out behind his eyelids turning to the woman now below him, her legs high atop his shoulders. He kicked his covers down, exposing himself as his movements became more free. _“Unnh”_ Jon groaned, the image of the brunette actress moaning with his imagined thrusts.

Suddenly, the brunette began to shift and morph, her wavy brown hair turning straight and coppery red. Her green eyes transformed into the clearest crystal blue and the silent groans of pleasure were now framed by lips with a perfect cupid-bow shape.

 _Shit_ , Jon thought, slowing his strokes, feeling kind of wrong. He willed his mind to return to the brunette, the porn actress…one of his exes….the hot girl who served him coffee three weeks ago…but no, the woman he was imagining stayed the same. And he felt shame at how turned on he was by it.

 _No one will know,_ Jon reminded himself, placating that small part of him that was protesting; raging a hugely outnumbered mini-battle behind his closed eyes. _“Mmmm,”_ he rumbled quietly as the disturbed part of his mind conceded defeat and gave up. If picturing his android Sansa is what’s working for him this morning, then so be it. It doesn’t mean anything. He screwed his eyes tight, imagining her moaning and sighing and screaming his name animatedly. He’s close. He can feel the build of his release as his hand begins to work furiously. He thinks of Sansa on top of him now, riding his cock and telling him how good it feels. _“Mmm, does that feel good baby?”_ he half whispers, half groans to the imagined scene before him. _“Tell me, Sansa,”_ he says, liking the way her name tastes on his tongue like this.

“Tell you what, Jon?” comes the unexpected voice, said in a sweet, even tone.

Jon’s eyes fly open wide to see Sansa practically standing over him, a tray of food in her hands. _“FUCK!”_ he yelps, desperately grabbing at the blankets to cover himself. _“Sansa!_ You…” he’s lost for words as he feels his skin grow even hotter and redder than he had been whilst jacking off. “You can’t just… _FUCK!_ ”

Jon scoots to sit up, clinging to his coverings like a shield that might save his life. “How long have you been standing there?!”

Sansa cocks her head to the side. “1 minute and 38 seconds.”

“I-I…I didn’t hear you come in..I-“ he ruffles his hand through his hair and takes a breath, “Sansa…you can’t just walk in here like that, I was….well…I was-“

“Masturbating,” she supplies, very matter-of-factly. Jon’s jaw drops and he stares at her dumbly for a while. “An activity that is beneficial to human health,” Sansa continues, “not only does masturbating help release neurochemicals such as dopamine and oxytocin, a study has shown that reaching orgasm at least three times a week can reduce a man’s risk in developing cancer of the prostate.” Jon continues to gape as Sansa then frowns down at where he’s cupping himself securely over his blanket. “But you did not continue to completion and achieve orgasm, Jon. A release of the stress-relieving hormones will require that you-“

“Sansa!” Jon suddenly splutters by way of interruption. “ _Why_ are you here, watching me….watching me do _that?!”_

Sansa’s frown deepens as she stares at the food on her tray. “You are upset,” she deduces to herself. “This is an activity traditionally completed in private?”

Jon nods furiously, gulping and tugging the blanket even higher up his chest.

“Very well,” she smiles sweetly at him, turning and bending perfectly to place the tray of food and coffee on his nightstand. “I shall leave you to achieve orgasm in private, Jon.”

Staring at his closed bedroom door long after Sansa had glided beautifully from the room, Jon shakes his head, his mouth opens as if to say something to the empty room but then snaps shut again. “ _Fucking hell!”_ he groans, bringing both hands up to drag over his face as he sinks down the bed into his pit of embarrassment.

Over an hour later -give or take a few dozen pep talks to himself- Jon wanders downstairs to seek Sansa out. He finds her in the kitchen, chopping some vegetables.

“Hello, Jon,” Sansa says cheerily as if she hadn’t caught him jerking off at all earlier. “I am preparing a healthy soup for your lunch later on,” she explains, her hand becoming a blur as she dices half an onion. Jon only raises his brows and nods in recognition. He wanders over the large fridge and opens the door, intent on pulling out the carton of orange juice and willing the air of awkwardness away. “Did you achieve a satisfactory orgasm?”

Jon winces as his face is hidden within the cool of the refrigerator. He sighs to himself before he closes the door. “Sansa,” he starts, “we don’t…uh…that isn’t a suitable topic for discussion between us.”

Sansa puts down the blade in her hand. “But it is a perfectly natural human activity?” she queries.

“Yes, it is,” Jon flusters, feeling himself blush furiously as he averts his eyes and rubs at the back of his neck, “but-“

“You are showing signs of discomfort,” Sansa says, eyeing him and Jon makes an effort to cease his fidgeting. “You are…embarrassed?”

“Well…yeah.”

Sansa bows her head in acknowledgment. “I will not speak of your masturbatory habits again,” she informs him, going back to take up the knife and resume chopping.

Jon lets out a breath. “Thank you.”

After pouring himself some juice, Jon sat down on the stool at the other side of the kitchen island to watch Sansa work. She was fast and efficient. She didn’t seem to be following any recipe book and Jon wondered if she had all that information already stored in her memory. After a while, and only once he was sure his blush had receded, Jon cleared his throat to talk. “Um, Sansa?”

“Yes, Jon?”

“You haven’t cleaned the study room,” he stated, his mind going back to his discovery amongst the dust yesterday.

Sansa looked up from where she was stirring the soup. She had a confused looking crease between her brows and Jon was once again left wondering if these expressions are programmed into these androids. “I haven’t?” she responds.

“No…and…well, you were keen for me to use the room, so I was wondering why you had left it untouched?”

“I…” Sansa blinked to herself before she gave a small twitch of her head, “It is an oversight. I shall clean the room for you shortly. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, Jon.”

“No,” Jon shook his head, “that’s not what I meant to imply.”

Sansa said nothing and went back to her stirring the large pan.

Jon left her, returning to the study to grab that curious book.

“Look,” he said, coming beside Sansa and opening the cover of ‘The Ethics of Consciousness by Prof. Qyburn’. “I found this in here. Do you know who wrote it? Do you know what it means?”

_She will show herself to you when she is ready._

“The book has been damaged with pencil markings,” Sansa said without any hint of sarcasm. Jon smiled to himself, he supposes he asked for that.

“No…do you know what the words _mean?..._ Or who might have written them?”

“That is Mr Eddard Stark’s handwriting,” Sansa stated plainly, not looking at Jon or the book and continuing to stir her soup.

“Why would he write that?...Who do you think it’s about?”

“I do not know, Jon,” Sansa says, turning off the stove and wiping her hands on her apron before unlooping it from around her neck. “I shall clean the study for you now,” Sansa said, walking from the room.

The doorbell rang suddenly, and Jon hear Sansa’s shoes clip against the parquet floor on her way to open it.

“Sam,” he heard her say after the front door had been opened. Jon frowned to himself, Sansa sounded…’ _pleased?’_ To see this ‘Sam’. He wandered out to the entrance hall just as he heard a man begin to speak.

“Sansa! It’s good to see you! Is your new owner in?”

Jon approached and was even further surprised to hear Sansa practically ‘squeal’ with delight. “Ghost!” she said, dropping to kneel, just as a giant white wolf-looking dog bounded up to her and began slobbering all over her face excitedly. Sansa laughed – _actually laughed._

“Oh hello!” the portly man at the door said, offering his hand to Jon in greeting, “you must be Mr Snow?”

“Um, yeah,” Jon said, still focussing his confused expression on his android’s odd behaviour as he shook the other man’s hand.

“Well welcome to the neighbourhood, Mr Snow. My name is Sam Tarly and I live across the street with my wife and children.”

Jon blinked at Sansa who was still animatedly fussing with the dog, practically coo-ing at the thing. He shook his head, realising that he was, in fact, being spoken to and probably seemed like he was being rather rude in ignoring him.

“Sorry,” he flushed, turning to properly address the man on his doorstep, “yeah, uh, thanks,” he said, unable to keep from looking back at Sansa laughing again as she stroked the dog and called him a ‘good boy’. “Hey, is that normal?” Jon asked Sam without taking his eyes off his android, “I mean, I don’t know much about these things but…she seems…. _happy?..._ is that even possible?” he asked, turning to Mr Tarly.

“Yeah, well…” he chuckled, “Sansa’s not like most of the androids you’ll find ‘round here. She’s top-of-the-range. Ned made sure that she had all the upgrades and everything. He told me he wanted her to be as human as she possibly can be.”

“Huh,” Jon commented, looking back to Sansa. It all still seemed a little too ‘off’ to him.

“So, uh,” Sam started, “speaking of Ned, I-“

“Ned?”

“Yes, Eddard Stark,” Sam clarified, “I’ve brought his dog back, now that you’ve settled in.”

Jon blinked at the man. “Eddard Stark…had a dog?”

“Yeah,” Sam smiled, gesturing to fluffy white beast, “Ghost,” he supplied. “Although, I guess he’s _your_ dog now. Gilly and I took him in when Ned got ill, but he is technically part of the estate you’ve inherited.”

Jon let out a huff before shaking his head in amusement. “Ned’s planned a few surprises for me, it seems. Thank you, Sam.”

“Not at all, Mr Snow,” he shakes his head, waving away Jon’s gratitude.

“Jon…please call me Jon.”

They stand there for a while, with Jon asking about the neighbourhood and Sam excitedly enquiring about Jon’s work beyond the wall. Jon is usually a good judge of the people he meets, and he decides pretty quickly that he likes this Sam Tarly and is glad to have him as a neighbour.

“So,” Sam says, bouncing on he balls of his feet, “Gilly asked me to invite you ‘round to ours for dinner on Saturday. Nothing formal, just as a ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ kind of thing.”

“That sounds great, thank you.” Jon smiles, happy at the prospect of being around some people that he is sure were very real.

“Oh, and please bring Sansa along, Gilly and the children miss her very much. We used to see her and Ned all the time.”

“Please tell Gilly and the boys that I miss them too,” Sansa says suddenly, making Jon jump. He hadn’t realised that she was now standing right next to him.

“I will do, Sansa, thank you,” Sam blushes, “I’d better be off now. Goodbye.”

“Did you mean that?” Jon asked Sansa once they’d both said their goodbyes to Sam and the front door had been closed behind him.

“Mean what, Jon?”

“That you missed Sam’s wife and children?” he asked, his brows knit together as he takes a step closer to the android.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Jon.”

Jon licks his lips, feeling like he might be turning mad for actually asking what he’s about to ask. “Did you…did you just say the words because they are what your programming tells you to say…or did you mean it? Do you miss them-” he takes another step closer and puts a hand over his heart, “-in here?”

Sansa blinks at him, her throat bobbing with an uncomfortable swallow that Jon’s eyes are curiously drawn to. “I don’t know what you mean, Jon.” She says in a tone that sounds slightly strained before turning on her heels and walking away. “Come, Ghost,” she calls, patting her thigh, the big fluffy white beast lolloping along behind her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I don't know the science behind the whole jacking off more regularly decreases the risk of prostate cancer but an Australian study did concluded this so says some men's magazine somewhere so I'm taking it lol

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah...this is sort of inspired by the tv show Humans - however, I can't really remember the full plot of that show so this won't follow too closely :-)


End file.
